


The reverb in these holy halls is like a long-lost friend...

by Postmortal



Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Religion, but nothing too descriptive, characters tagged in order of relevance to the plot, there's mentions of death and corpses and stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:46:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27522508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Postmortal/pseuds/Postmortal
Summary: As it turns out, grief doesn't get less painful when you've had centuries to get used to it.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33





	The reverb in these holy halls is like a long-lost friend...

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic on this account was supposed to be JonMartin, but you're all getting this instead. Song in the title is [Big Houses by Squalloscope](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l2G9nIpWrNg). Give it a listen and feel some forbidden emotions.

Grief is a _funny_ thing. Not in the way that you'd laugh yourself into hysterics, but more in the way you'd think to yourself, "Well, isn't it funny how the universe works," when you're having the new worst day of your life. After a few thousand years, you'd think you'd be immune to grief, that you'd learn how to keep from getting so attached to others that their absence leaves a void in your soul that you can't ever seem to cover completely. And so it was that Brian found himself on a planet now devoid of anything resembling life other than the Mechanisms themselves, asking the others for just a bit more time.

"We're leaving with or without you; better hurry if you wanna make it on the ship!" Jonny threw his words over his shoulder with an empty magazine as he walked by, headed to meet the others on the ship.

"Mind waiting for me? I've got... business... to take care of." He probably should have thought of an excuse before it was time to use it, but it's too late now and Jonny's already thrown him a slightly-confused look.

"Business?"

"That's what I said."

"On a planet full of pretty much nothing but corpses and things that probably used to be buildings at some point?"

"Yes. Nothing _you_ haven't done."

Jonny shrugged and started walking back towards the ship. "Go at it, I guess. Don't blame me if you wind up stuck in another sun again, though."

Brian said nothing, just turned and walked off toward the only building he knew of still left standing. As he approached, a loose brick fell from somewhere high on its facade, and Brian thought about just how _funny_ life was. This planet was a lot like just about every other the Mechanisms had visited. It was once thriving, filled with the noise and excitement of civilisation, always changing and growing beyond what its inhabitants had previously thought possible. But these inhabitants did as those in so-called "civilised" societies often do, and fought. They fought amongst themselves, and went about inventing newer and even more deadly ways to make an argument, until eventually, all their warring drove them to their own extinction. One of those planets the Mechanisms didn't _have_ to get involved in. The violence they did unto themselves was entertainment enough, all the way through to its end.

As Brian pulled open the heavy wooden doors to the cathedral, he thought about how _funny_ religion was. He'd never really been a very religious person; his own persecution on his home planet had left a bad taste no amount of whiskey could ever seem to completely wash out. It was something of an interest, though, how even so far across the universe, on such wildly differing planets, religion always seemed somewhat the same. Not that every planet had the same deities or stories of creation, but the way their religions arose and how one was expected to worship.

He'd watched quite a few planets grow from beginning to end, and it always went the same. As soon as people were able to communicate with each other, to handle the kind of cognitive processing that required, they started to make something of a religion. It was understandable, of course. There were so many things none of them could explain to each other, so was it really that hard to believe that perhaps someone else had a hand in the way their lives went? When faced with the prospect of disease and death, violence and unfathomable chaos, was it so really so wrong to look to the stars and hope with everything in you that somewhere out there, _someone_ had a reason for why you were suffering?

As for Brian, well, he'd witnessed - and even _done_ \- a lot of things he was certain could make even the most devout believers question their faith. After millennia of violence for violence's sake, of facilitating the demise of entire solar systems, of crimes he tried with everything in him to find some way to justify... He'd be lying if he ever told you he really believed there was any kind of deity up there - benevolent or otherwise - who could justify their own right to that position while they allowed people like the Mechanisms - people like _him_ \- to run free.

He took a seat in one of the pews and tried to fight the wave of _too much, too fast_ memory and emotion threatening to force its way out of him like a parasite that'd taken everything he had and now needed to find a new host. The thing about religion is that it really can make someone more than mortal, even if only for a moment. If you believe in something hard enough, you'll go past your own limits for it eventually. Religion is dangerous like that.

Brian had a friend once, maybe a thousand years ago, maybe more, maybe less. Time didn't mean much to him these days, and there really wasn't a point in counting when you've got more of it than you'll ever know what to do with. So all those centuries or millennia ago, Brian had a friend, and that friend was a very dangerous combination of religious and mortal that didn't work out well for him in the end.

One of the biggest - and hardest - lessons Brian ever had to learn after being mechanized was that you really, _really_ shouldn't make friends with the people you meet outside the ship. You shouldn't make friends for pretty much the same reason you were fine to make as many enemies as you pleased: Nothing on any planet was going to follow you all that far out of its orbit. You'd have a lot less to grieve if you didn't waste time getting attached to the kind of people who were just going to die once and be done with it. Somehow, knowledge doesn't ever seem to equate to much of anything useful when he needs it to, though.

He'd been quite lonely on Fort Galfridean, hanging for centuries - or at least, long enough to rust quite thoroughly. Things were a bit more fun with the original inhabitants of the station - at least they'd talk to him sometimes. But after a while, the station was populated by people who didn't really know anything about how their civilisation started. By the time he met Galahad, Brian had been without company for a very long time. He'd spent most of his time watching, never quite felt he had the right to speak unless spoken to, and the thing about everyone thinking you're just some kind of weird statue is that they don't tend to talk to you. And when they do, and _especially_ when you talk back, they think they've gone mad and they don't try talking to you again.

Then Galahad came into town. Brian had already decided this man was either the biggest religious zealot since the guy who got him thrown off his home planet, or he was just absolutely unhinged. It was probably both. Either way, Galahad couldn't have had better timing. When Brian finally decided he needed to speak up - _someone_ had to save this station from getting destroyed and killing everyone stuck on it, after all - Galahad was the only one who really _listened_. Of course, he had his own wild theories about the whole situation, but that was kind of understandable, considering no one but Brian really knew anything about, well, _anything_ outside of Fort Galfridean.

Besides that, though, Galahad _talked_ to him. Brian never intended on getting attached to anyone here - he'd honestly never imagined he'd be stuck there _that long_ in the first place - but after spending so long feeling like the overheated version of himself before the Mechanisms got hold of him, he found a friend in Galahad pretty quickly. They'd talk pretty much daily and if he was being honest, Brian always looked forward to it. If you steered away from anything that could easily lead him into one of his sermons, he was actually really nice to talk to. Brian would tell him stories about planets he'd visited and people he'd met. Galahad would sit next to where Brian hanged, listening intently, sometimes interrupting Brian with wild questions about things that just didn't make any sense to him, and Brian would laugh and try to answer them all without forgetting about the story he'd started off with.

Sometimes Galahad would ask Brian about what was outside the station. Brian had tried to explain the concept of Avalon being the sun and not some kind of weird Hell, but Galahad never really took to that, so eventually he moved on to other things. He'd talk about stars and planets, vast intergalactic empires and the people who'd destroy them. Galahad would listen and ask his questions and draw maps in the piles of rust covering the ground just to visualize what it must have looked like. They spent so many days like this, it sometimes got easy for Brian to forget this couldn't last forever, and he'd push off that thought as long as he could just to have a few hours' peace.

* * *

One day, Galahad took up his usual place in the rust next to where Brian hanged. He stared into the ground in front of him and started quietly drawing a new map, one they hadn't talked about before. Brian had waited quietly, feeling like Galahad was going to say something very important, and that he shouldn't speak on the off chance he'd interrupt.

"We head out tomorrow," Galahad began as he finished his map. He pointed to an area toward the end of it, then continued. "GRAIL's supposed to be somewhere down in this area, so that's where we're headed. It'll be me 'n the Sheriff 'n his lot. Hear he's leavin' those two kids - Mordred 'n Gawain, I think it is? - in charge here while we're gone."

"Think they'll be a good fit?" Brian asked, hoping he could steer the conversation away from the path he knew it was headed down.

Galahad laughed, but the sound was short and tense, like he couldn't really put his heart in it. "What d'you think?"

"They'll tear each other apart."

"And take the rest of us down with 'em."

"Well, you'll just have to hurry and get back before they do."

Galahad went silent, running a hand over the map he'd drawn out like an eraser. He started drawing a building, adding arrows pointing in all directions. As he finished his new diagram, he finally made an attempt at a response. "I don't think I'll be comin' back. Maybe some o' the others, but I doubt I'll make it out." He gestured at the arrows in his drawing. "Y'see these arrows? All that's guns, pretty much. Someone's gotta go through 'n be their target practice 'til they run outta ammo. I don't know about you, but I ain't made o' the kinda things that can take that many bullets 'n come out the other side in _one piece_ , much less _alive_."

Galahad was right, and Brian knew it. That didn't make it any easier to deal with, though. "You might, though," he said halfheartedly.

"Aw, c'mon, even _you_ don't believe that."

"Maybe I don't. But I'd like to. Is it so wrong to have a little faith in you, _Father Galahad_?"

This time, Galahad's laughter almost sounded real. "You never call me that unless you're makin' fun o' me. Real rude of ya to speak ill o' the dead like that."

"You're not dead yet, so I'm free to speak ill of you all I want."

"And what's in it for you, then?"

Centuries on down the line, Brian would regret being so candid. But in that moment, he found he wasn't able to tell a lie, as much as he _really_ wished he could. "Maybe it'll keep you around a bit longer, having to defend your reputation and whatnot. Y'know, since I'm _speaking so ill of you_."

"Y'know, I came here to say goodbye before we head out tomorrow. You sure are tryin' to make it real hard to leave." Galahad finally looked at Brian then, and maybe that was a mistake, because Brian felt every bit of his self-control disappearing as he faced the thought of losing his best - and, well, _only_ \- friend.

"I'll miss you," Brian said, his voice quiet.

"I'm sure you will."

* * *

Brian could say he never saw Galahad again after that, and if he were only talking about seeing him in person, it would've been true. But there were times like these, during flashes of memory in what once could've passed as someone's hallowed ground, or in what passed for dreams when he let his mind go offline for a few hours, where he could see Galahad again. In these memories and dreams, Brian tried to only ever see the good moments. He tried to only ever dwell on all the stories he'd told, and the ones Galahad liked to hear often, and the slightly-to-the-left-of-sane smiles that seemed to give off their own light, much brighter than the station's or even the star it orbited. And there were moments, in the deep breaths before more sobbing cries tore their way out of him like a bomb exploding from the inside out, where he could almost say he was happy to remember.

Currently, though, he sat in the pews of a now-unnecessary cathedral, inwardly cursing that he was built with the ability to cry, or even feel the level of emotion necessary to warrant it. Brian had always liked to think he was a good man, that everything he'd done could be morally justified in the end, but it was moments like these that really made him wonder. Who was he to judge the moral weight of his own actions, as if his justifications would mean anything in the end, weighed against his actions like a feather against a cinder block? Who was he to decide he could ever truly be _good_ , when he could look back on his time with Galahad and say that in all honesty, he felt like he'd _failed._ Maybe there was something more he could've done - _surely_ there was something more he could've done - that would've fixed things. Something that would've saved everyone.

But then, who was he to say that the inhabitants of Fort Galfridean, more than any other planet or station he and the other Mechanisms had been involved with, were so much more worthy of saving?

Brian would like to think he's a good man, but as he left the cathedral, boarded Aurora, tried _desperately_ to leave this forsaken planet behind him, all he could think of is how all churches really do look the same, especially when they've no longer got a preacher.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, the religious trauma really jumped out here, huh! Anyways, meet me on [Tumblr](https://transcognizi.tumblr.com), or in the pit. Either way, it's going down.


End file.
